Something Off
by PinkRangerV
Summary: Extended. Something's off about the Rangers. Trent knows it. Trent is it. And as he searches for the way to make it right, he finds that something can't be turned on again. AU.
1. Tommy

A\N: Yeah, Dr. Turned-Evil-Three-Freaking-Times, what exactly are you doing to help Trent? Besides, you know, letting him stay screwed up? Seriously, _not_ okay there. Let's try for a little morality, shall we? Anyway, I got annoyed and started writing. Enjoy.

* * *

Trying to heal on your own is a bit like trying to learn to paint without a teacher. You get the gist of it right, but there's always something a bit...off.

I can point to it, sometimes. There, that idea that parents are evil. That's wrong, I know Ethan's parents aren't evil. There, that way I don't look to anyone for approval, but when Dr. O praises me on his own I feel like I could fly. Kind of a weird thing--either I want approval or I don't. There, that idea that we should blow Mesegog to kingdom come...um, not actually sure how that one's wrong, since we're fighting a war here, but I got pretty funny looks when I mentioned it.

Sometimes I don't get it. That's usually when I get the weird looks. Then I shrug my shoulders and move on, and we all try to pretend that I wasn't schizo at one point and no, it's never coming back. Because going back to that insanity is...I can't even describe how horrific it is to me. I _never_ want to feel like that again.

But I keep the gem.

The only reason I keep it is because if Mesegog does this to anyone else, I'm going to take the Dragozord and rain holy nuclear hell down on him. Fuck the Rangers. It's what we all want to do anyway, and I'm so close to lost that I don't think Dr. O'll mind if I go nuts. Well, he'll mind, but it won't hurt me.

See, that's my team. We're _all_ lost. It's just that the others were lost _before_ they became Rangers, so they learned how to hide it. And we share things with each other, more than Dr. O could dream of knowing. Conner's parents only care about soccer. Kira's still screwed up from her dad leaving. Ethan dies a bit every time he lies to his parents.

I think they know my secret, too, about Mesegog and my dad. They aren't the brightest, none of us are, but we can pick up on pain easily, especially from each other. But Dr. O...

Well, he goes through life thinking he's a hero. A miracle. He thinks we worship him because he's a legend.

Idiot.

We hang out with him because the others want praise. They crave it, need it. They have no parents anymore, Rangering took Ethan's and Conner and Kira were pretty much born without them. They need Dr. O like they need oxygen. But it's kind of a twisted relationship, because Dr. O doesn't get it.

He holds us back. All of us. He wants us to be his old team, but he's tried too hard to make us into that. He doesn't realize that our pain makes us efficient weapons. We could be better than any team in the galaxy, just because we're so used to the daily pain of life. We know when to attack, when not to, what to do when a parent gets mad and how to keep secrets in the open without saying them.

But he lectures the others so much, gives them so many battles, that they just want to go home. And I watch them get tired and worn out without even touching their true power. It drives me nuts. Wake up, I want to scream, We can be better! We can do so much more!

But Dr. O would be the price. He doesn't want a good team. He wants his old team. And none of us can give him up. Even I feel like a star when he praises me, and I know what he's doing. His nostalgia is destroying us.

And he knows that I'm off. He knows there's still parts of me that need healing. But what does he do? Nothing. Because Jason should be healing me, or rather Conner. Who's who? Does it matter to him? No, I'm him and Jason is Conner and we're obviously best friends. But how can Conner heal me? He doesn't know how to heal _himself_, let alone me.

And he's no Zordon. Zordon might have been good and pure, I don't know, but I do know that Zordon actually knew what he was doing. He helped Dr. O heal. Dr. O has no freaking clue.

I guess I wish he did. All my drawings lately are of us, with power, really living up to our potential. We could have had the stars.

But Dr. O didn't want the stars.

I wanted them. It's a cry that appears in all my drawings. I wanted the stars, I wanted power, I wanted to really help people. But in the end I'm just stuck making sure that Mesegog doesn't destroy anyone. And I wonder if that's the most off thing about me.

I wonder if that's the most off thing about the Rangers, too.


	2. Anton

A\N: Well...I just can't leave Trent alone. Guess this is gonna be at least a threeshot...so, happy angstfest! (Was that an oxymoron? Probably. Not worrying about it. Enjoy!)

* * *

They hadn't spoken in two days.

The only sign Trent was even living in Anton's house were the new drawings. Trent left them for Anton to see. Silently. When Anton wasn't around.

The boy had become rather good at avoiding him, Anton thought dryly. A side effect of the monster that had lived inside of him.

But Trent still put the drawings on his desk. That was a good sign, wasn't it?

They were old drawings, Anton could tell. Always showing a dark and light, a balance between them. Trent's newer drawings were kept secret. They were an intimate part of him, and like a fresh wound, Trent kept them close to his heart, nurturing them in a hopeless attempt at true healing.

Anton was content. Elsa was helping him with the worst of Mesegog, and Trent had Tommy and his teammates. They would both survive, recover. They would go back to being alive.

Then, one night, Trent walked out of his room.

It was midnight, Trent knew. He should be in bed. But he couldn't sleep. In his arms were a small stack of drawings, painful wounds that seemed to be covered in his own blood. He walked to Anton's study slowly, like a man walking to the light at the end of a tunnel years long.

He didn't want to see his scars in the light.

He pushed the door open slowly.

Anton was sitting at his desk. Carefully, deliberately, Trent walked up to him. He set the pictures on the table, letting them say what words couldn't.

Anton picked up the first one. It was Kira, wings spreading majestically out on one side, the other wing broken and limp. A song flew from her mouth, taking the place of her broken wings. The second was Conner, kicking a soccer ball to a boy who mirrored him. The second Conner was covered in bruises and wounds, but held a jester's staff in his hands. The third was Ethan, curled up inside a sphere of stone, while outside a sickeningly familiar Mesegog struck the stone with his talons, the other Rangers defenseless and strapped to tables. The fourth was Tommy, a small planet in his hands, but his eyes staring at an archaic symbol for the Pink Ranger.

The last was Trent.

Trent was the White Ranger, but Trent also stood opposite his suit, the two facing each other. The White Ranger held a paintbrush in one hand. In the mirroring hand, Trent held a dagger.

Both were bleeding.

Anton slowly looked up. "They're good drawings, son." He said calmly. "I suppose as hobbies go, this one is better than throwing a football, isn't it?" He set the drawings aside calmly. "It'll help you make friends in college, I suppose. That's better than nothing."

And just like that, Trent remembered who he was talking to. Just as silently, he turned and left. Without speaking a word, he lay on his perfectly made bed and fell asleep.

He dreamed that he opened his eyes in the middle of the night. Anton was stroking his hair, the moon shining on him.

"I'm sorry." He whispered. "I know I hurt you, son. I'm so sorry. I'm going to be a better dad, Trent. I'll be the father you always dreamed of."

But Trent opened his eyes, and it was just a dream.

The next day, Anton found a new picture on his desk.

A clawed, scaled hand pierced the world, making its southern hemisphere bleed. A human hand rested atop it.

Below the hand, everything died.


	3. Haley

A\N: Oops. Okay, first? You have my humblest apologies for the delay. Second, it wasn't my fault! I fell in love! And, as those of us who've fallen in love before know, it's REALLY hard to write angst when all you can think about is the person you're in love with. So, er...sorry. And oops. Fanfic getting finished now.

* * *

Here is how it feels to be Haley:

You are happy. Gloriously, impossibly happy. Because at long, long last, you've found love. Not the love that everyone expected you to have, the man with the picket fence and two-point-five children, the love your mother wanted, you've found the love who's a Power Ranger and has four kids and four Raptor Riders and a huge heart.

And he wants to share.

Granted, you had to make the first move. But once the smacking-Tommy-upside-the-head-so-he'd-freaking-_get_-it phase was over, he wanted you. And you wanted him. And you were in heaven.

If you are Haley, you are happy. And you glow inside, and you know everyone can see it, because the Power is nothing compared to falling in love.

Here is how it feels to be Trent, watching Haley:

You cannot take your eyes off her. It's not the kind of watching you do with Kira. Watching Kira is loving, a powerful force that can move oceans. But when you watch Haley, you are guarded. Jaded.

She has fallen for your enemy.

You have pretended for months as you work that, should you finally open up to Haley, should you ever dare to tell her of the storm raging inside, she would sweep you into a hug and tell you it's okay, she'll fix it. And then she would do it. You've spent months lying to yourself, knowing full well that you are lying, but refusing to let go.

After all, she was hope. And how do you abandon hope?

But now when you watch her, it is with a sharp fear. Your father abandoned you. Dr. Oliver was too stupid to realize that he hurt you. And now Haley has sided with the two people in the world who have hurt you the most.

You cannot take your eyes off her.

Because now you have lost hope.


End file.
